


#1

by eyemeohmy



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Moments, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Prostitution, Shameless Smut, Smut, Violence, and fucking out each others minds, crossover-ish, different name different origin still nega!lp, everyone's fucking outta their minds, unrequited something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: Jim Starling met his biggest fan. Negaduck's about to meet his.





	#1

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate origin story for a Nega-Launchpad in a universe without a Negaverse... maybe. The unrequited something tag is in reference to Jim/Launchpad, but it's... not so simple, as Jim neither loves nor really desires LP so much as just the big lug stroking his ego.
> 
> There's a scene in this fic that is heavily referenced from this [NSFW Jim doodle by tito_curmudgeon](https://mobile.twitter.com/tito_curmudgeon/status/1158993071507431424) (with permission). It just... so good, SO GOOD, I had to incorporate it into the fic. Thank you, Tito, for allowing me this honor.
> 
> Please pardon any grammatical errors, ty ty.

Jim Starling gasped as he finally lifted his head from the sink of cold water. He took a few heavy gulps, steadying his thrashing heart. Jim opened his eyes, finding himself face to face with his reflection--no, not quite his reflection. Bitter, angry, betrayed, looking through himself into the dark recesses of his mind.

Not him. _He_ wasn't _him_.

Jim almost tore out the towel bar as he yanked off the wash cloth, scrubbing his face dry. He stopped, spotting creamy smears and a bit of red. Jim looked up, scowling at his nearly visible black eye; the swelling had gone down, at least. He checked his wrist watch, ignoring the shattered casing. Wouldn't be long now.

Jim unlocked the hotel safe, unzipping a large black bag. He dug inside, past his uniform, past hard steel and something dangerously sharp, removing a first aid kit. He flipped it open, taking out his half-empty bottle of concealer. Jim quickly but expertly lathered a few dollops over his eye, over the bruise, blending neatly into the feathers without clumping. He checked himself in the mirror again; turned his head, did a quick examination of his body. He cracked his neck, winced and massaged his shoulder.

There was a thudding knock at the door. 

Jim hissed, quickly shoveling kit and bag back into the safe, kicking the closet shut as he ran over to answer. He slowed to a casual, comfortable swagger, brushing off his coat and running fingers through his head feathers. Another knock, and Jim unlocked and opened the door, greeting his guest with an unimpressed, cool frown.

The duck at the door was twice Jim's height, twice his weight in muscle--broad shouldered, wide chest, thin waist, with a thick bottom bill chin. His hair was combed back, buzzed down at the sides, and pulled into a small braid. It wasn't red, but black; his eyes were darker, too. His feathers were more cream colored than white, but beyond that, it was all rather uncanny.

"You're late," Jim snorted, turning and walking to the bed. He started unbuttoning his coat once the door closed, heavy footfalls approaching him. Large hands clutched his shoulders, dark orange beak lowering to nibble at his neck. Jim scowled and shrugged himself free. "I'm not paying you for that."

The stranger smirked. "Think of it as a freebie," he said. He watched as Jim took off his watch, dropping it on the nightstand. Dark eyes looking the mallard from head to toe, studying every single inch of his body. "S'been a while. Almost a month to the date."

"So?" Jim grunted. He was reluctant to take off his pants, but his sprained leg had healed, no longer requiring bandaging. "I've been working." He climbed onto the bed, lounging back on the pillow; repressing a flinch from a sudden burst of pain in his shoulder. Jim spread his legs for his partner, his cock pressed up against his briefs. "Either way, let's keep it quick," he smirked, wagging a beckoning finger, "I'm a busy man."

The larger duck chuckled. "Of course," he said, shrugging off his vest and torn tank top. "But what's the hurry, Johnny?" he asked, the bed shifting and creaking beneath his weight. "We dinnit havta rush for our last playdate."

Jim scowled. "You want to be paid or not?" He jerked his head at the stack of money nearby.

The stranger sighed. "Awright, awright, I won't pry," he said. He grinned as he moved between Jim's legs, towering over him; shadow swallowing the smaller duck whole. His face lingered above his client's, beaks almost touching, but they wouldn't kiss. 

They never kissed.

The larger duck hooked his fingers into the waistband of Jim's briefs, peeling them down until they were off, tossed across the room, landing right in the sink of water. Jim snickered, his eyes glimmering, and the prostitute stopped a moment, curiously tilting his head.

"What?" Jim grumbled. He reached to cup the larger duck's side, before pulling out a small bottle of lube. He sat forward defiantly, sealing the space between their bills. Still, the larger duck was smiling, pleased with himself. "Get to work, or get out." Jim shoved the tube in the prostitute's hand before turning onto his hands and knees, grumbling.

"From behind again?" the stranger smirked. "Yanno, be more comfortable if ya took off your coat at--"

"Stick to the script!"

The larger duck frowned, squeezing the bottle hard enough to blow off the lid. Jim rolled his eyes, waiting expectantly; he presented his ass, wagging back his tail. He took a deep breath as the larger duck above him moved; heard the thick liquid smearing between fingers. Jim closed his eyes, exhaled--

Jim moaned as the first finger worked its way inside. He clutched the pillow tight. The stranger grunted, forced to hold back, but remained silent, staring at the back of Jim's head. He continued massaging circles around the entrance, inside little by little, spreading him.

"S-Say..."

The prostitute's eyes darkened. "I'm your biggest fan," he said lowly. Jim sighed, as if relieved of immense tension. "You're my hero. You've always been my hero." He wiggled his finger into the second knuckle, Jim growling and slumping forward, arms and legs shaking. "You're the real one. Not him. Not that fake. You're the one and only."

"Y... Yes..." Jim panted, rocking lightly back on the finger.

"No one can replace you," the larger duck continued, feathers down his back rising with agitation. "You'll save me. You'll make them see. You'll make them all pay for what they've done to you. For what they did to me. You'll take that loser out." He thrust a second finger inside, hard, and Jim yelped, momentarily clenching. "I believe in you."

"Yes, yes," Jim groaned, brows knitting and twitching. He licked his beak. "M'only one... He's... not... Could never... I'll sh-show them... them all..."

"But I'm not worth your time."

Jim's eyes snapped open. That wasn't part of the script. "H-Huh?"

"I don't deserve you. But _he_ does."

Jim looked over his shoulder. "What are you--" He gasped, suddenly lifted off the bed, arm awkwardly bending as his coat was yanked and thrown off. He went to struggle, but the stranger flipped him onto his back, pinning his hands above his head in a vice lock. Jim felt a chill when he met the prostitute's eyes--so dark, so angry, so... predatory.

"You never did ask for my name," the larger duck said. "It's Terry."

Jim bared his teeth. "This isn't--"

"An' yer name isn't Johnny, Jim Starling."

Jim choked. "How... but..." He blinked rapidly.

"Maybe ya ain't been in the spotlight for a while," Terry chortled, "but I can recognize ya from anywhere. Ain't no use changing yer coat to yellow and shirt to black. Kinda-a shitty disguise, especially--"

Jim launched his knee into the duck's stomach, but Terry didn't even flinch. Jim was flabbergasted; what was this idiot made of? Steel? "Get off of--"

"Why d'ya care so much about Dorkwing's dumb sidekick?" Terry growled, those manic eyes narrowing. "An' do ya know just how much it pisses me off, knowin' the only reason you hire me is 'cause I look a lot like that jerk-off? That's why ya want me t'fuck you from behind. So the delusion ain't gotta break."

"Illusion," Jim spat in his face.

"But ain't it a delusion?" Terry laughed bitterly. "Y'don't need 'im. Not when ya got me. An' I wanna see yer face when I fuck ya, Negaduck."

Jim felt as if he'd been sucker punched, the air leaving his body with a comical wheeze. His eyes bulged from his skull, beak dropping open. "How... B-But h--" he stammered, gobsmacked.

"Ever since we met, I felt somethin' between us. Besides yer dick, that is. Somethin'... really nice. A-a-a spark; shit like that. An' so I been followin' ya. Watchin' ya."

"Stalking me!"

Terry chuckled. "Yup. An' although the world thinks yer dead, I know Jim Starling's alive an' well--well, maybe not as well. Not up here." He bowed down to bump their foreheads together. "But I like that. Whatever happened to ya made ya go all crazy, turned ya inta the menacing an' malicious masked mallard that's got St. Canard shakin' in their little booties."

Jim's eyes burned as they narrowed. "How long...?" he demanded, his voice deep and grave.

Terry shivered, cooing. "Now _that's_ the voice I love..."

"Love?" Jim snapped.

"That's right," Terry said, grinning wickedly, "I love you." He nuzzled his beak against Jim's stiff neck. "I'm yer biggest fan, Negaduck."

Jim turned his head to bite Launchpad's cheek, only for the larger duck to sit back and laugh. "You know... nothing!" Jim snarled, thrashing, kicking, and bucking. He quacked as Terry bore down on him with all his weight, making it hard to breathe.

"Oh, I know everythin'," Terry sneered, licking his thumb. Jim squeaked and turned his head away, buried half his face into the pillow. Terry wiped away lines of the concealer from under his black eye. "Dorkwad gave you this last week, during yer scuffle after the bank heist in East Canard. You gave him a nice left hook after, though."

Jim rolled his head back, gaping. He vividly remembered that fight in the dark alley near the dump--not a single soul around aside from Darkwing Duck, Launchpad, and himself. "You... Where were you?" he rasped. "But--"

Terry glowered, gently cupping Jim's cheek, stroking at the bruise around the eye. "I almost ran outta hiding; I was gonna beat that purple nimrod into a pulp for what he did t'ya. To yer pretty face."

Jim gulped, then stiffened as the hand lowered over his right clavicle. "When Darkwing kicked ya here, I swore I heard somethin' shatter. Ya almost passed out on yer way back to yer lair. If ya hadn't made it, I was gonna run yer ass to one of my doctor buddies. Yeah, she deals in stolen organs, but she's still a doctor, yanno?"

"You even... you even followed me... t-to my home?" Jim wheezed.

"Followed ya. Went inside. Ate some of yer food. Took a cat nap in yer bed." Terry's eyebrows wiggled. "Y'know how ya thought y'lost those expensive fancy boxers ya got from Italy in the wash?"

Jim's face turned red. "You sick son--"

"We ain't so different, Jim. Negaduck. But I always been wantin' t'call ya..." Terry shuddered blissfully. "Negs."

Jim ground his teeth. "You... I'm going to _kill you_..."

Terry groaned. "Now wouldn't _that_ be the ultimate--"

With a violent twist, Jim broke free, removing the razorblade lined inside his shirt. He pressed it against Terry's throat just as the edge of Terry's butterfly knife rest under his bill. The two breathed heavily, frozen, neither backing down, eyes and weapons locked into place.

"Yanno," Terry sighed, "I wanted this t'be a surprise. My first gift t'ya." His eyes flicked briefly to the knife in his hand. "Even got yer initials carved into it."

Jim spat. "You're a fuckin' freak."

"Yeah," Terry said, "but so are you."

Jim gulped audibly. "What I do... it's none of your business--"

"Make it my business," Terry growled, leaning forward, letting the tip of the razorblade cut lightly into skin. "Lemme work for ya. Lemme help ya. As yer partner, as yer sidekick." His eyes sparkled. "I watched yer show growin' up, too, y'know. I hated Darkwing; I hated his goody-two-shoes, holier-than-you attitude. Wanted t'beat 'im into the ground. But this new Darkwing... he's worse. Much worse. An' who'da thought the very asshole I hated since I was a hatchlin' would become the most brutal, amazin' criminal I've ever seen?"

Jim frowned.

"But ya need help. _Lotsa_ help. Stick wit' me, an' I'll git ya everythin' ya need. I'll help ya get yer revenge. I'll help you burn this shitty city to the ground," Terry offered, barely able to hold back his excitement. "We'll be unstoppable, you an' me."

Jim's hand and razorblade shook. "... Why?"

Terry tilted his head. "Why?" He laughed. "I told ya! I'm yer biggest fa--"

Jim knocked away the knife and Terry's arm, rolling off the bed and onto his feet. He swung his fist at Terry's head, but Terry grabbed it, lifting the smaller duck up and throwing him over his shoulder. Jim landed on a hand, pain burning in his clavicle, flipping onto his feet.

Terry ran at Jim, launching his elbow at his chest. Jim twisted aside, slicing feathers from the larger duck's chest with his razorblade. Terry threw up his crossed arms, blocking two round-house kicks, knocking Jim off his feet with a hard headbutt. Jim shot both legs into the duck's stomach; more pain flared down his limbs as he forced the bulky body up and over him.

Jim swayed to his feet, stumbling. He went for the butterfly knife. Terry grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him back down. Dragging the smaller duck over. Jim thrust out a leg, but Terry smacked it aside, letting Jim go to spring on him, pick him up, and pin him to the wall with an arm to the throat, webbed toes hanging from the ground, a knee pressing between his legs.

Jim choked, clawing at the hand, at Terry's face. Terry bobbed his head, avoided getting his eye poked out; he easily ripped off Jim's undershirt, throwing the smaller duck onto the bed face first.

Jim rolled onto his back, went to sit, but Terry was on him again, holding his arms up against the wall. The two panted, sweating and shaking; they searched each others eyes, neither finding reason or sanity.

Terry crashed his beak into Jim's, Jim hungrily returning the kiss. He arched his body against the larger duck's, cock half-mast and rubbing against Terry's stomach. Terry's own erection wet against his trembling thigh. Jim bit down on Terry's tongue, only to receive a heavy moan; he practically chewed, drawing blood, then let go. Suckled on the wounded tongue, swallowing beads of blood.

Terry ran a hand down Jim's belly. "Broken rib--first fight, almost two months ago. You were such a newb, hitting up a gas station, but you put that nerd in his place. You hadda see a doctor who could keep their mouth shut; told 'em you'd fallen down some stairs. I watched you chew up those painkillers like they were candy fer weeks."

Jim gasped, released and pulled to sit in Terry's lap, back against his chest. Terry wrapped a hand around his throat, tilting his head back, grooming his sore shoulder. "Judo chop here--three weeks ago. You were settin' up explosives in the sewer beneath the St. Canard police station. You got in mosta the hits, even if ya dinnit get t'set off the bombs. But this one hurt; the way you shook, tryin' not to burst out screamin' while tryin' to sign papers an' shit when muscle was still raw an' throbbin'."

Terry fondled open the lube bottle, squeezing all of it out on Jim's belly. He dragged his hand down his slick cock, between his legs, fingers hooking up inside Jim ruthlessly. Jim keened, grabbing at the hand tightening around his throat, bucking and squirming.

"Careful with that leg," Terry smirked, "the sprain only jus' healed up." He slid in a third finger, and Jim sobbed, tears wetting his cheek feathers, showing more and more of his bruised eye. "I seen ya at yer best, an' I've seen ya at yer worst. I seen ya screechin' an' tearin' at the walls like some loon, fulla hate an' swearin' revenge on everyone an' everythin'. Yer fuckin' batshit crazy, yanno? It's fuckin' hot as Hell." He pulled out his fingers and Jim whimpered.

"Watchin' you work... Ain't never seen no one as powerful as you, an' yer still new to this whole scene. S'why you need me. Like I said, I can getcha anythin' ya want. I got lotsa connections, inside an' outta St. Canard." Terry ground his cock into the small of Jim's back. "Y'see, I ain't no prostitute, but when ya came t'me, offerin' to pay fer me t'fuck ya, I knew instantly it was _you_. An' how could I say no?"

"You..." Jim choked, wiggling. His cock was aching, needy. He chewed his bottom bill.

"Ya let me inside ya before, but it wasn't me. Not really. An' it wasn't you, either." Terry licked the corner of Jim's black eye, over the twitching lid, lapping up tears. "Lemme do it again. Properly this time. Then lemme do it again an' again an' again. Again until y'finally see... I'm yer biggest fuckin' fan, Negs."

Jim took a deep breath, vision blurry. "Fuck," he croaked, "fuck me."

Terry's eyes lit up. He turned Jim around, pushing him into the cheap motel bed. Jim dug his fingers into Terry's arms, pulling out feathers. Terry quickly lubed up his cock, fumbling and blushing. Before Jim insisted he wear a condom, but at the moment, not much made sense to Jim outside of needing this fucking madman's cock inside his guts.

Jim growled, throwing his head back as Terry moved inside of him. More and more, forcing open still adjusting, tight muscles. Drawing a little blood that seeped out onto the mattress in droplets. But neither asked to stop, neither wanted it to stop. Terry was nearly entirely sheathed inside Jim, and while he wanted to keep going, they both reached their limits.

"Gonna fuckin' tear you apart," Terry snarled, gripping Jim's hips and thrusting. Jim yelped and tore open skin, clinging to the larger duck. "Lemme do it, jus' lemme do it. Yer almost perfect, y-yeah, but ya still need some pieces glued back i-inta place." He grunted, each pump inside rolling Jim back, curling up his spine. "Can make ya everythin' ya want. What we want. _Everythin'_."

Jim couldn't see straight, eyes rolling back and crossing. He hugged Terry, dragging hands down his back, pulling his braid loose. "God," he whined, beak open, panting heavily. He bounced back into Terry's cock, muscles searing hot, all his nerves ridiculously sensitive.

"You'll see," Terry growled, angling back, pulling half himself out, "you'll fuckin' see, I'm worth it."

Jim cried out as Terry pounded inside him; one swift, hard, violent stroke, hitting that bundle of nerves that shook his body and sent him reeling, cum wetting Terry's chest. Terry gave him only a few seconds to breathe and come down before he was shoved into the pillow, ass forcibly held up as Terry resumed thrusting.

Jim didn't know how long Terry had been fucking him. It hurt, and he was almost completely drained of any energy. Then Terry would hit that sweet spot again and again, overwhelming him in heat. Overstimulated and boneless, he allowed Terry to move him around as if he were nothing, turning him onto his side. All the while whispering sweet-nothings and dirty promises in his ear. Jim could barely make half them out, mind practically melting from his sloppy grin and teary eyes.

"I _want_ you," Terry hissed into Jim's neck, one leg thrown over his shoulder as he fucked into the limp, trembling duck. Jim could only groan, drooling into the pillow. He whimpered as Terry nuzzled his cheek, licked the corner of his mouth. "An' you _need_ me."

Terry _finally_ stopped thrusting, holding himself inside Jim as he came. Jim yelped and jolted, teeth grit. Terry finished with a grunt, pulling out his flaccid dick, cum pooling on the bed. Jim twitched, felt his stomach muscles flutter.

Terry pushed open Jim's legs, and fondly kissed his right inner thigh. There was a bruise there, healing into a rusty yellow patch; Darkwing had kicked him rather hard while they were tumbling along the dock, right before they fell into the cold saltwater. Terry pushed up feathers on Jim's belly, licking a scabbed over cut from Darkwing's grappling gun hook grazing him.

Terry moved further up to his injured clavicle and shoulder, down to his elbow that'd been injured after Darkwing shoved him over a railing into a dumpster. Terry took his hand and kissed three of his fingers, previously burned when, in a mindless rage, he tried taking the gas gun from Darkwing's hands, the barrel hot from repeated shots. He slid Jim's thumb into his mouth, the very same that had been bent back and sprained after punching Darkwing one too many times, suckled and licked.

"Ain't no Darkwing without Jim Starling. Darkwing's dead; the _real_ Darkwing. Ya gotta kill this shitty impostor. Yer so much better than him; better than all these wannabe losers thinkin' they're so tough an' badass. But I know power when I see it; you ain't gotta change nothin' with me. You ain't gotta be Jim, if ya don't wanna. Jus' Negaduck. And all those other criminals and super villains? They ain't got _fuckall_ on you--on what you can do. What _we_ can do. Together."

A black eye. A cut cheek. A bump on his head. And then Terry rolled him over onto his side to sink his teeth between Jim's shoulder blades. Jim yelped and struggled--he hadn't been injured there, no; it figured Terry would know the sensitive and erogenous spots on his body as well. But Terry kept biting and chewing, until he left a slightly bleeding set of teeth marks in the flesh.

Terry grinned proudly. His mark; his wound.

"Tell me y'need me, an' I'm yours, an' you'll be mine," Terry almost pleaded. He picked Jim up, the smaller duck sagging in his arms until he was propped against the wall, Terry holding his face in his hands and keeping him upright. 

"Tell me," Terry growled desperately.

Jim swallowed dryly. His mouth clicked as it opened. With a harsh wheeze, he said, "Yer hired."

Terry beamed, and Jim could only tiredly smirk.

**Author's Note:**

> Terry's full name is Terry Shrike. Terry is from his original voice actor (I APOLOGIZE DEEPLY) and Shrike... because fuck yeah SHRIKE.


End file.
